


Summer's Secrets

by NotOmnipotent



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Brotherly Love, Fluff and Angst, Greg is Sweet, Greg is sappy with his romance and Mycroft isn't impressed, London Countryside, M/M, Mycroft is closed off, Not Beta Read, Or Is he?, Poor attempts at humor, Sherlock is a hellspawn, Still rocking 3 piece suits, Summer Vacation, Virgin Mycroft, brotherly fighting, more tags to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-04-24 13:29:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14356482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotOmnipotent/pseuds/NotOmnipotent
Summary: Greg Lestrade just hit thirties and his teaching career finally starting to take off. During his internship in London the Frenchman met Siger Holmes, a retired English professor. The two hit it off and Siger invited Gregory to come stay study underneath him for one of his summer courses. Greg took the opportunity and flew out to the London countryside during the summer. What he did not expect was the dazzling suit wearing Mycroft Holmes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based off Call me by my name, after seeing the movie a few weeks ago I couldn't help but channel the gay romance (and tears) into these two dorks. Just like in CMBMN there is an age gap in this as well. Greg is 30 and Mycroft is 19. It's not really said in the movie? I was smacked when I found out how young Elio was, so I lessened the gap a tiny bit to persevere my good christian values. Or lack thereof. If anyone would like i’d love a beta because it is just me and i'm prone to make errors :) Please enjoy this story, comments always make my day, along with con crit! Helps me become a better writer! The french is a mix between my knowledge and my lovely Canadian friend. But when she isn't there it might be from google translate, so feel free to tell me if something is inaccurate!
> 
> Enjoy!

The plane was packed to the brim with eager families and old couples ready for their vacation time to finally start. Not to mention the fairly obvious rich tourist who had enough money to travel to several countries over the course of their summer vacation. “Mesdames et Messieurs, le capitaine a tourné sur le signe Attachez vos ceintures. Si vous n'avez pas déjà fait, s'il vous plaît ranger vos bagages à main sous le siège devant vous ou dans un porte-bagages.” The french attendant continued to drone on with her pre-boarding speech as the microphone crackled against her high-pitched voice. She paused for a brief moment, letting those get their hearing back before switching to english for those who couldn't understand French. 

Gregory fiddled in his window seat, he was fortunate enough to be in the first ten isles. Even more so that there were no babies on his flight, his briefcase was on rested on the small tray table, pulling out documents to read in the one hour long flight. “ Monsieur,” A short woman dressed in a flight attendant uniform stopped in front of his row, her hair in a short black bob. He and her exchanged a short and knowing look,  he suppressed his eye roll as he pulled his briefcase off the small plastic tray table, clipping it into the seat in front of him. “Merci,” She smiled drly before strutting off down the aisle to harass some loud Americans. But the English professor had gotten what he wanted, zoning out until the plane started to take off, he peered up at the safety video. They had gotten out of hand in these past years, all of them singing and dancing about what to do if the plane crashed. Maybe it was some weird sort of humor Greg didn't understand. Chocolate brown eyes moved back down to his documents, reading over Siger Holmes papers, pen in hand as he marked it up, taking as many notes as he could. 

This was the reason of his plane flight. During a brief time spent in London a year ago he met an overly friendly man by the name of Siger Holmes. What started out as an out of the blue conversation was quickly turned into a fast friendship. Greg found out Siger worked in many ivy league institutions across the world, with a bit more research he found out the man was a famous professor. Siger being the polite and kind man offered for Gregory to stay with him and his family in his home, helping him (not that Siger required help) with his summer course. Blown away the rookie English professor accepted happily. 

Now here he was, flying out a year later to do exactly that. Spending his summer to grow as a teacher and learn the craft of teaching from one of the best in the business. He was giddy with excitement. Thirty pages marked up with notes as the plane slowly descended into the United Kingdom, the landing a bit bumpy but Greg hardly noticed over his own fast heart beat. 

“Mesdames et Messieurs, que nous commençons notre descente, s'il vous plaît assurez-vous que les dossiers de sièges et de tables-plateaux sont dans leur position verticale. Assurez-vous que votre ceinture de sécurité est solidement attachée et tous les bagages à main sont rangés sous le siège devant vous ou dans les compartiments supérieurs. S'il vous plaît éteindre tous les appareils électroniques que nous soyons en toute sécurité stationné à la porte. Je vous remercie.” As the woman finished people shifted, voices rising as most were more than ready to get off the plane. As the doors opened minutes later people filed out in a forced organized chaos. Greg shuffled behind checking his phone for any emails or messages from the man. Not seeing any wondering if he should call, he had never received any sort of address from the man. Gregory knew the Heathrow Airport well enough to continue staring at his phone, lucky for him he had jammed all his clothes for the month in one carry on suitcase. The hell of baggage claim would never come, going quickly through customs finding it odd how quickly he got through he thumbed in Holmes’ number only to be stopped by a woman walking up to him. 

“Merci Monsieur Lestrade, I’m here to take you to the Holmes estate. Mr.Holmes sends his deepest regrets that he couldn't pick you up himself, but Mrs.Holmes insisted after he fell off a ladder just earlier today.”  Her British accent more posh than his entire existence, the cogs turned slowly in the Frenchman's head. Estate? A ladder? 

“Oui, eh...Yes, i’m sorry who are you?” His brain switched into English slowly, Siger hadn't told him he was rich. Maybe that was a given, but it didn't seem so, he had meet the man at a suit and tie event. Siger wore a tan jumper. 

“Anthea Walsh.” She was about 5’6, brown hair cut off near her shoulders, sharp emerald eyes that told him she was much more than a chauffeur.  Wearing a suit, blackberry in her left hand, sleek jet black platform heels and bright red nails. Greg couldn't help but stared for a moment. 

“Nice to meet you,” He nodded slowly, she nodded back curtly, turning around she headed out the doors of the airport, like a puppy the French professor followed behind. 

‘ Je vais être kidnappé’ He thought begrudgingly, as he got into a beautiful Jaguar moments later. Anthea pulled out into the airport traffic weaving through the crazy taxi and uber drivers with ease, pulling onto the freeway he noticed they were not heading towards central London. 

Definitely getting kidnapped.   

“The Holmes estate is in the countryside, so please feel free to relax it will be a long journey.” She explained as if she could read his mind. When all she had done was stare at him with the rear view mirror for a few seconds watching his panic expression rise. Greg nodded wordlessly, tense for the next thirty minutes as London seemed to faded and grassy hills started to appear instead. The Frenchman had never seen the countryside, staring out the window watching the scenery flash by as Anthea drove a solid 80 mph if not more the entire way out to the estate. Just as Greg started to get a crick in his neck and back she pulled into a driveway, her speed slowing down significantly as she drove up what Greg assumed to be the estates driveway. 

His jaw dropped as the estate appeared in front of them, it was grand and magnificent. Gregory only thought people used these in movie sets, not to actually live in them. She pulled up into the circular driveway, of course a beautiful fountain sat in the middle of the cirual roundabout. Flourished with flowers all the way around. Greg wheezed, Anthea chuckled. “We are here, enjoy your stay Mr. Lestrade.” She nodded for him to get and he got out, grabbing his luggage from the trunk. She drove around and out back the way they came. 

“Zut…” He cursed underneath his breath, doing a 360 circle looking around realizing this man was filthy rich. 

“Gregory!” 

Speak of the devil. 

Siger Holmes shuffled out of the front door in a green jumper and red bow-tie to match. His bright smile made up for the long trip. “Bonjour Siger, mon aime!” They met in the middle for a hug. “Come in come in,” He waddled around like some sort of penguin, holding the small of his back. Ah, the ladder. 

Greg’s jaw dropped as he walked inside, and Siger laughed. “This is just one of the estates, we keep it around because much of our family was raised here.” Greg could have whimpered, but his growling stomach cut him off. “Come come, we have much to discuss over dinner, Martha! Martha!” Siger shuffled off into one of the doors disappearing through the other side. Greg looked around, a beautiful staircase curved up just a few feet in front of him. Looking up it he could actually see someone standing at the top. As soon as the figure at the top of the stairs was spotted the flash anger in steel gray eyes and ginger hair disappeared into the depths of the manor.

Looking around for a moment longer still shocked that this is where he would be staying, he followed through the door Siger had just walked through. Martha was setting the table, he didnt recognize the woman. But that was quickly changed. “Ah! Gregory there you are, this is out cook Martha Hudson.” They have a personal cook! 

Sticking his hand out quickly not wanting to be rude, “Ah, bonjour!” Greg smiled as Martha finished setting down the golden brown pork roast, his eyes widened comically and the lovely woman smiled widely shaking his hand.

“Finally someone who appreciates a good meal! Enjoy sweetie, we can have introductions tomorrow,” She pulled him forward to sit and the next hour was a blur of suppressed moans and praise for that woman and her cooking skills. Siger explained near the start of the meal that it would most likely just be the two of them for dinner tonight. Violet, Sigers wife, was having a ladies night with some of her friends and his two sons rarely partook in dinners. Gregory certainly didn't mind as he tried to mind his table manners as he shoved that mouth melting pork roast into his mouth, it was a perfect meal after a long day of travel. Siger carried most of the conversation talking about current events, funny stories and how he fell off the ladder. As Greg slowed down, taking measured sips of water Siger suggested for him to sleep.  

The wave of exhaustion hit him hard in that moment. More than ready to sleep he nodded thanking him for the meal and allowing him to stay in this beautiful home. But the kind man waved him off, “The pleasure is mine, now come come before you fall asleep on the stairs.” He said standing up, batting Greg away from taking his plate to the sink, the Frenchman didn't argue, he was much too tired.

Siger guided him up the steps, “Now, this place is a bit of a maze, many rooms aren't actually bedrooms. So we have put you next to my oldest sons room so you don't get lost.” Greg digested this for a moment, ready to comment, wondering if that person he had seen earlier was the elder son, but Siger continued on. “Don't worry Mycie already knows to help you around if needed. The room has two beds but it had three at one point but after Sherlock set one on fire...well that’s a story is for another time.” Stopping at the end of the hall he pushed open the door. The room was dark, Greg could tell it was a master suite from size alone. But he couldn't make much out in the darkness. It looked inhabited but no one was inside. 

“In you go, have a good night.” Siger said happily, walking off to his own room.

Greg was left on his own. Shuffling inside closing the door navigating through the mostly open space. There wasn't a second bed as Siger said their would be, but he was too tired to care. Setting down his luggage he toed off his shoes, unceremoniously yanking off his shirt and pants. Leaving them in waddled up bundle as he crashed into bed, he groaned as the bed welcomed him. Within a few minutes Gregory was passed out, lightly snoring as his body splayed over the queen size bed. 

The door opened in the middle of the night, someone walked in stopping realizing very quickly someone was in their bed. “You’ve got to be joking….” Of course his father would guide the guest to the wrong room. Mycroft sighed tapping his foot, weight his options. He could easily kick the man out of his room, but he would most definitely receive repercussions from his parents for doing so. Rolling steel gray eyes he shut the door, easily navigating in the dark to the bathroom. While being a suite the bathroom connected to another bedroom. Greg's actual room.  Shutting the door already planning to have a serious talk with his father about his left and rights, the manor was silent except for the soft sounds of violin. 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A seminar and a first meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is chapter two, I honestly didn't expect anyone to be interested but you were! So here's chapter two just for y'all.  
> Hope you enjoy!  
> Comments fuel my soul.

  
Both Holmes brothers perched their elbows on the windowsill, two pairs of intelligent eyes on the black jaguar that pulled up. The game was about to begin. “He’s already gawking,” Sherlock drawled rolling his eyes shoulders falling as if it was a disappointment. Sherlock was the brightest twelve year old in London, a mop of inky black curls lay atop his perfect ivory skin, piercing blue eyes that could make anyone quiver. “Hardly a deduction brother,” Mycroft, the elder brother, just months away from starting his first semester in Cambridge University. Bright ginger hair that was elegantly combed, otherwise it would adopt some soft curls, of course not as unruly as his brothers rat nest he called hair. He had just lost all of his weight over the course over the last summer in a large attempt to make sure he was presentable in public and to halt his brothers insults. The latter would never happen, but the ginger could secretly wish so.

Sherlock grumbled, blue eyes still trained on the door, snapping over to Anthea as she got out. Immediately she spotted them in the farthest window to the left, but said nothing of the sort. Just watching in amusement as Greg took in his surroundings.

“He’s French….” Mycroft leaned forward in the window ever so slightly, suddenly a bit more interested in the man looking at his home in shock and awe. Sherlock interjected, “You can’t tell that he's French.” Sherlock while smart, Mycroft still dominated in the game of deductions. Mycroft hummed as if to acknowledge his brother, but watched the male greet his father. “Mycroft how can you tell, tellll meeee” Sherlock whined looking back and forth, his small mind trying to work out what exactly Mycroft was seeing that he wasn't. Without a response Sherlock lifted up his foot, slamming it down onto his brothers, Mycroft inhaled immediately standing up to his full height. As any noise would give away their position, steel gray eyes flared with the intent of death. Sherlock screamed his way out of the room, their cover must have been blown. “Hellish nightmare,” looking at the indent in his leather shoe he scowled feeling his poor foot throb in pain. But apparently the scream was missed as his father ushered the man inside.

Foot throbbing he huffed knowing he would have to find Sherlock before he set the house on fire in an attempt to kill them both. Walking down the corridor, he paused in front of Sherlock's door, he could hear the french accent more clearly now. Mycroft could tell he was struggling to string English over his home language. Moving away from Sherlock’s room towards the banister, he finally spotted the man. Watching his dark chocolate eyes scan the large entry hall, his clothes wrinkled no doubt slathered with cologne to mask any body odor from his long trip. Mycroft didn't need to squint to see the stray grays against his chocolate colored hair. “Early gray…” The young adult breathed in a questioning manner only for those swirling brown eyes to connect with his. Mycroft froze, his facial expression became cold in an instant. Backing off in an instant, out of view he had no reason to introduce himself. No. He would be in the library, studying, keeping Sherlock out of trouble. Strange men were not part of his summer.

Mycroft spent the rest of the night convincing Sherlock not to set the house on fire. Instead explaining how he knew Gregory was French. “Gavin? How plebeian…” Sherlock rolled his eyes as he swirled around in his desk chair. His room was chaos, or ‘organized chaos Fatcroft!’ as Sherlock so eloquently put it. “It’s Gregory, not Gavin.” Mycroft corrected picking at some invisible fuzz on his button up shirt.

“That's what I said Walrus, now tell me how you knew,” Knees drawn up to his chin as he continued to spin around slowly in his chair. Mycroft observed his little brother for a moment, he knew the boy was just curious. He was about everything.

“Time Anthea spent away from the estate. Plane flights coming into day in accordance to the time Anthea left this afternoon. When she arrived, his hairstyle, his disposition the way he carried himself, his accent...not to mention we were in fact told by mummy and father a week prior to his arrival?”

“You didn't look up plane flights,” Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, they had been together all day.

“Indeed, i'm glad you listened to the rest of what I said.” Mycroft sighed knowing his brother didn't even listen to him. Staring out the window thinking about what he knew about France culture, it was surprising little.

“Shut up i'm thinking.” The chair finally halting its spinning, Sherlock closed his eyes for all of three seconds before he grumbled, opening up his eyes. “I’m bored.” He proclaimed jumping up from his chair dashing over to his closet, opening it up Mycroft proceed to gag.

“Dear lord Sherlock what are you doing with moldy food in your closet!” The smell of rotten food immediately filled the room, but Sherlock wrinkled his nose, making no comment expect for an insult.

“Shut up Fatcroft it's for an experiment.” As if that was a reasonable explanation.

“An experiment to see how fast I can leave your room? Allow me to show you,” Walking past the closet holding his breath he gagged as he exited his little brothers room.

Being greeted with a pitch dark hallway he frowned, time flew. It was midnight already? Thinking nothing of it, guessing he could do some research on his new house guest, rounding the corner to his room he opened the door immediately noting the sleeping figure in his bed. “You’ve got to be joking….” Of course his father would guide the guest to the wrong room. Mycroft sighed tapping his foot, weight his options. He could easily kick the man out of his room, but he would most definitely receive repercussions from his parents for doing so. Rolling steel gray eyes he shut his bedroom door, easily navigating in the dark to the bathroom. While being a suite the bathroom connected to another bedroom. Greg's actual room.

Walking into the guest bedroom seeing the fresh linens and bed sheets already set up he suppressed another eyeroll. Pulling out a single cigarette out of his pocket, a terrible habit that he only blamed himself for, with no real intent to stop. It helped him with stress, or so he told himself. Pushing open a window he lit his unhealthy habit between his pale fingers. The first inhale was a relief, pushing out the gray smoke into the night sky. But after four more exhales into the night sky he felt guilty, stubbing it out he threw it down into the shrubbery below. Shutting the window feeling relaxed he stripped off his clothing, leaving his boxers on he climbed into the foreign bed.

\----------------

Greg stretched out over the luxurious bed, inhaling a deep breath relishings the smell of the room. He was glad it didn't smell like a hotel. Rolling over on his side looking at the digital clock, “Shit!” Fumbling out of bed, it was already noon, why had no one come to wake him up? Unzipping his suitcase which had somehow made it into his room, he pulled out a cotton blue button up shirt and some blue jeans. “Blue and blue…” He said looking down at himself, taking off the blue button up trading it for a white one instead, the professor did his best to tame down his bedhead. Walking across the bedroom space to the front door only for a small boy to stumble inside.

“Uh..”

“Gavin! I thought you were dead, i lost a bet…. Look I need you to teach me some french, no no, don't worry i'm much smarter than you. But mummy wont give me another language coach after I scared the german teacher off. She had halitosis and a large drinking issue after her husband dumped her rightly so seeing as she was a gold digger. Honestly people are lowering my IQ even from the confidments of my own estate,” He shivered before continuing, “ I need all the French slang your old mind can conjure up, you can write it down on a piece of paper for me I don't want to listen to you speak, melts my brain cells. Just push it underneath my door,” He stopped to consider something as if he had come. “I have to go check my mold cultures again before fatcroft throws them away,” And just like that Sherlock bounded down the hall and around the corner.

Greg blinked.

Feeling like he had just been caught up in a small whirlwind, he took the steps two at a time as he walked down the large stops, pushing open the door which he thought was the dining hall. He was correct. Siger and Violet were having a small conversation, eating breakfast still as if it weren't lunch time.

“Ah Greg! Nice of you to join us, we must head off right now if we are to make the seminar,” Siger pushed his chair back kissing his wife's sliver curls, waddling past Greg dragging the man along before he could properly introduce himself.

The seminar was amazing, Gregory shouldn't have been so surprised as Siger was one of the key speakers, the way he transformed himself from a bubbly old man to a scholar was incredible. Greg’s notebook was filled to the brim as the crowds of english lovers and teachers erupted into clapping as he finished. Who knew a comma placement could be so interesting. Siger moved offstage meeting Greg, introducing him to some of the top in the business.

“This is the head of the English department at Oxford,” Siger said with a smile before his conversation lead him elsewhere, leaving Greg to talk to him.

“So, you wrangled in Siger,” He looked young to be head of the department, the seminar was mostly older folk, but Greg suspected he had barely hit fourty. A brilliant white smile and a luxurious head of hair, his eyes a deep sea green, chiseled chin. A beauty. “He’s an enigma that one, I asked him countless times just for tips and we ended up talking about climate change instead,” He laughed and Greg gave a weak chuckle.

“Yea, just sort of luck I guess…” Greg said trying not to look over to where Siger had wandered off to, the hall was quite expansive and the frenchman didn't remember where they parked.

“So where do you teach?” His british accent was so deep, Greg wanted it to be fake, fucking criminal for someone to sound like that.  
“I dont, I just finished my teachers aid training. I met Siger here two years ago at a convention much like this, we...we hit it off and next thing I knew next summer I was flying back out to London once more to work with him.” Greg stumbled through the sentence, sometimes english was a challenge, his words were certainly laced with his french accent. As if the french inside of him wanted him to switch to his home language and wow crowds, instead of stumbling through the english language.

The man laughed, “Siger is a fool. Why he’d waste his time with you is beyond me.” And with that he walked off.

Greg felt a pit form in his stomach. So much for trying to make a new friend.

Siger took that moment to walk back over, kind smile on his face, “Ready to go?” Greg nodded happy to leave.

The ride back to the house was a quiet one, Siger commented on Greg’s silence but he quickly blamed it on jet lag. No need to tell Siger he wasn't worthy english professor before he even got his first real job. As they arrived Greg stepped out of the car, a bit less thrilled with the giant estate, but still stunned he was staying here. A month. He had a month to learn as much as he could, get a job and write the Oxford prick an email he wouldn't forget.

“You should sleep Greg,” Siger said stepping inside, Greg nodded slowly but didn't follow behind. He needed some sunlight on his skin. Walking around the pebbled path of the large mansion he was met with a large beautiful garden, complete with its own miniature hedge maze. Unable to help himself he wandered inside the small hedge grove, winding around a few times, surprised to find a dead end. Left. Left. Right. Popping out the other side with a fond smile on his face he actually saw someone sitting on a bench not too far from a pool.

Of course they would have a pool.

Walking over Greg took in some more obvious details, the largest one being the hand held umbrella currently shielding the male from the sun. Elegantly shaded in a sea of heat, as he wore a suit, legs crossed, back looking more straight than his would ever be. Steel gray eyes connected with his, Greg smiled.

“Bonjour,” He nodded taking a few more steps towards the bench, it was currently being fully occupied as the male sat directly in the middle. One book and a glass of water on one side the other had an empty plate a half eaten sandwich underneath the sun's heat.

“Hello,” he didn't look up from his book after the initial eye contact, eyes just on the printed words of the page.

“I’m Greg,” Greg tried not to frown seeing the opposing males lips curve downwards in distaste.

“I’m Mycroft,” He turned the page.

“What are you reading?” Watching his chest heave in and out in a silent screaming sign to leave him alone did not stop Greg from pressing on. “You going to school?” Oxford would have been Greg’s choice, but he looked a bit young, maybe he was still in primary.

“Cambridge actually, Oxford is reserved for my little brother since his inclination to never visit anywhere I have once he leaves the estate.” Mycroft said dreadfully, closing his book finally looking up at his bed thief.

Greg nodded, his mind making a connection. “Is your brother a little mop of dark curls and growing a mold culture in his room?” That reminded him he should have written down some French for the kid.

“I assure you the mold is long gone from his room, and yes, that’s Sherlock. I doubt he would give you his name,” Mycroft said, his umbrella lolled to the side revealing a small white blob of sunscreen on his nose.

Greg tried to recall the conversation, repressing his smile at how easily this kid must have burned in the light. “No he didn’t, smart as a whip though, told me all about some German teacher he had.” Appreciation.

“Yes,” Mycroft started inspecting his nails for a moment letting out a sad huff. “His deductive cabiblites are maturing quite nicely, as they should be seeing as I taught him.” A bit of self credit never hurt anyone, but Mycroft didn't know why he chose to took it in this moment.

“Deduce me then, i'll see if you are better.” Greg played, a smiling dancing across his lips as he watched Mycroft’s eyes flicker down his body for a brief moment.

“I shouldn't,” Mycroft commented, uncrossing his legs before recrossing them.

“You already did.” Greg snorted crossing his arms.

  
“Fine. Recently coming in from France to help further your career as a english professor. You have several siblings, you being the second...no oldest of the bunch. Leaving you with most of the blame and responsibility as you grew up, i suspect you had a bit of rebellion in you during your teen years but sobered up by your twenties. This leads me as to why you are an english teacher as it wasn't your first choice in profession, you sobered up in your twenties to get into the police academy. But i suspect something was on your record to inhibit you, thus you crashed not wanting to go to college you skipped out not one but two years. Unemployed for two years, you moved in with your sister helping her with her own dream job at her daycare. Now back to the english teacher, you originally wanted to teach young kids, being around children all the time, you went to school for teaching the younger generation. Much like myself I despise small children and you learned teaching them is much different than building a block tower with them. Wanting someone that could match or outmatch your own intellect you chose a university instead. But university has far greater competition than any sort of basic low paying primary school, so you redoubled your efforts, attending any sort of convention or meet up to see if you could get your in through means of making a friend. You met my father, but as you stand here in front of me your intentions of your stay have changed from selfish need to enjoying your time taking it as a learning experience.” Mycroft finished with a large breath, hiding his smug smile with a sip of water.

Greg’s jaw must have dropped half way through, but he snapped it shut realizing something was wrong, Mycroft immediately frowned.

“I was a ruffian during my teens but the police academy did accept me. I just realized I didn’t want to do that. Fighting crime isn't like in the comic books, there are real life consequences, and a hell of a lot of paperwork,”

There is always something. Shaking his head Mycroft let out a small chuckle, “Aren't you a english teacher? Your life is paperwork.”

Greg snorted, “But it's not about murder.” Mycroft conceded.

“So, did I win?” The ginger mused watching Greg try to figure out what he was talking about before he let out a laugh.

“Oui, tu est incroyable,” Greg hardy realized he was speaking french but Mycroft responded in kind.

“Merci Gregory, J'étais toujours le plus intelligent,” Watching Greg light up at French made the gingers day.  
Mycroft smile fell, and he paled. Rising up from the bench, he could feel Greg walking up behind him. “I must take my leave, my brother is going to set the house on fire,” He lied, all the matches resided in his room, along with a few of sherlocks things that only sherlock could start a fire with. But he needed an excuse, and excuse to get away. 


End file.
